


It's Rewarding to be Dead

by Starlord2004



Category: Hamilton - Fandom
Genre: Heaven, M/M, this is just my religion so please don't get mad at me if you don't believe in heaven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 03:52:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlord2004/pseuds/Starlord2004
Summary: Philip never thought that his time would run out this soon, but it did. He "wakes up" in a strange void, still wanting to deny the fact that he sadly had died. While trying to figure all of this out, he is greeted by a kind man who Philip swears he knows something about... maybe... from his father...





	

"Phillip..." Phillip heard his mother sob. He tried to call her name, he tried to speak the French that she had taught him to so elaborately use, he tried to give her even the faintest sign of his awareness, but it was no use. He felt himself quickly slipping away into the reality from which he could never be recovered. 

Phillip's vision blurred and his head spun as his father slowly lowered it onto the examination table. The pain from the bullet infecting the area above his hip meant nothing any more. What mattered at that very point in time was that Phillip was going to stay alive and push through this. He had to do it for his father, who had been through a war and who still remembered hearing the news that the person who he was closest to had been killed. He had to do it for his mother, who had gotten her house stormed by Indians and her younger sister and nephew almost killed in the process. He had to do it for his little sister, who had been alive to witness her older brother rise to glory and then fall. There was no chance, in Phillip's mind, that he was going to let all of these people go. Yet, there he was. He was lying on an examination table, slowly dying. It was all because his father had told him to aim his pistol at the sky. 

Phillip let that thought begin to erode as quickly as it had formed in his brain. This was not his father's fault, and it would never be. Not in a million years. The fault would lie with George Eaker, the damn fool that shot him. George was a selfish boy, always pushing himself in too deep. Yet, Phillip had to admit, he did that quite often as well. Hell, he was known for biting off more than he could chew, and with George, he certainly had. It was then that Phillip realized that the fault truthfully was burdened upon him. He just was refusing to admit it. Then it started to take affect. 

Phillip felt a lull slowly take over his body. He was losing one sense at a time. First, his hearing. He listened as his mother and fathers pleading voices faded away at a reasonable pace. Instead of hearing the gruff voice of his father, or the sweet and faltering tone of his mother, all sound resonated into a high pitched ringing that had quickly proven itself to be quite bothersome. 

Next, his vision. Phillip tried to widen his eyes in an attempt to see everything and everyone one last time, but it just made matters worse. As soon as he pried open his eyelids, everything warped into a swirling image with no end. It stayed like that for quite a while, but then began to blur, sending all of Phillip's hopes to die with it. 

Lastly, Phillip's ability to feel was taken from him in an agressive pull to the other side. Phillip began to panic internally as he felt the grip and warmth of his mother's hand on his own being slaughtered and dragged to a distant location where Phillip would never be able to feel its joy again without recognition. He gradually felt more and more consternation as he sensed as if the wooden examination table was being lifted out from under him, but he wasn't falling to the floor. 

Phillip's entirety came to a halt as he begrudgingly watched his eyelids pulling themselves shut with the minuscule amount of vision he still had. I'm just simply going to sleep. Exactly. That's what this is. Just a bad dream. Phillip prayed to the Lord on high that his last thoughts would come true, but he drifted off into an eternal slumber before he could react to anything else.

"Ow..." Phillip groaned as his senses came to once more. Wait... he was... feeling. He was hearing! Phillip forced his eyes open in anticipation. He still had the slightest sliver of hope left that he was alive. As he sat up, pain pulsed through his body. He was extremely sore, but he didn't know how or why. That didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that Phillip's body was working. 

Yet, as Phillip glanced around the space that he was in, his hope shattered against the ground. The ground... Phillip snapped his gaze downward. There was no ground. Or at least, Phillip couldn't see one. To be frank, he couldn't even see any sign of a roof either. It was almost as if he was floating in some forgotten void that was greatly lit with golden-white light. But, Phillip did feel a base. The only thing that gave him any awareness of an actual structure though, were neatly carved white roman pillars that surrounded him in a circle, and large golden bar gates that he could spot in the distance through the pillar-circle entrance. What initially troubled Phillip was the fact that he could not see anything but more of this strange void beyond the gates, which left him wondering where he would end up. 

"Hello." 

Phillip jumped as he heard a deep male voice coming from somewhere in "the void". Phillip's eyes darted in all directions, frantically looking for the source of the voice. His line of sight landed on a tall man, probably the tallest man Phillip had ever encountered, leaning against the one of the entrance pillars. 

The man had a broad and strong build and straight, long dirty bleach blonde hair that was neatly pulled back in a golden hair ribbon. This man's hair color did not look natural, but Phillip assumed it was from hair powder. Excessive amounts of the stuff could do something to a person. He had light toned blemish free skin, and tired but caring icy blue eyes that glistened in the heavenly rays. Phillip snapped out of his gaze of observation, still too stunned to process what action to take next. He finally came to the conclusion that he would stand in order to approach the man. Phillip pushed himself up with his hands in an attempt to appear upright, but his legs gave out from under him, sending him collapsing to the... "ground". The man chuckled in a kind tone, strolling over to Phillip and kneeling next to him. 

"After you pass through the barrier in between Earth and heaven, your legs don't work for a little while. Not too long though. You should be able to walk in no time," the man informed Phillip in a reassuring tone. 

Phillip slumped his shoulders and sighed in defeat. As he looked down, he noticed his change in clothing. He was wearing the same attire that he had been wearing when he died, but it was made from a crisp, white, clean material with intricate designs cautiously sown into it. The material also didn't have any blood spattered across its surface. Blood... 

Phillip forcefully brought his hand down upon the location in which he had been shot and jabbed his fingers into his skin. There was no remaining sign that there had ever been a wound. Phillip let his hand fall in relief, realizing that there would be less pain in his "future", whatever that may entail, than there ever had been before. 

"How old are you?" The man inquired, breaking Phillip away from his continuous flow of discoveries.   
Phillip shifted his gaze back toward the man. 

"I'm nineteen." Phillip proclaimed with as much courage as he could possibly muster up based on the current situation. 

"What age were you when you died?" The man quizzed. Phillip cocked his head to the side in confusion. He would assume that what had been asked was quite a rhetorical question, but he decided to answer anyways. 

"I was nineteen. Why do you ask?" Phillip questioned, curious as to why the man had wanted to know such a piece of information. 

"Just curious. You see, when you die, in heaven, you're reverted back to the age at which you were graced with the most joy. You're also reverted to your appearance at that age. If the age in which you were graced with the most joy was the age that you died, then you'll simply stay the same. Also, when you die, you somehow have the knowledge of your reverted age. Don't worry if you're confused, even I still don't get it." The man explained. Phillip nodded in acknowledgement, soaking up all of the new information that was hitting him blow by blow at his own pace. 

Trying to keep the mood of the encounter light, Phillip racked his mind to come up with something, anything to say. "How old were you when you died?" Phillip queried, mirroring the man's interest with his own. 

"I was twenty-seven. I was shot down from my horse in South Carolina in a skirmish with some British troops that hadn't heard word from Yorktown that the war was over yet. I am also twenty-seven now." The man told his story with a demolished tone as if he had told it many times before. But, Phillip didn't pay much mind to that. He was more interested in the man's military background. "

Sir, you were in the war? What rank were you? If I may ask," Phillip backed out of his enthusiasm after his second question, feeling idiotic and disrespectful. Now he would sound like he was trying to judge the man based on his military esteem. 

"Lieutenant Colonel." The man answered with confidence, perking up more at the mention of his glory days. Phillip let himself relax, thankful that the man wasn't suspicious of any false intentions that could've been taken into consideration with Phillip's question. 

"Oh, I have not got a clue what your name is. What is your name?" Phillip interrogated, recognizing vital information that he had not bothered to make relevant yet. 

"My name is Laurens. John Laurens." John straightened his posture as he announced this, trying to bring out his maturity. 

"John Laurens..." Phillip let the name roll off of his tongue as he experimented with the pronunciation on his own. It was then that it dawned on Phillip that he had indeed heard this name before. He swiftly turned back to speak to John. 

"I've heard your name. I recall my father mentioning you once or twice, but there was much more to it than that..." Phillip exclaimed, his common puzzling expression finding its way back onto his face. By this point, John also looked a bit confused himself, taking into consideration what Phillip had told him. 

"Who was your father?" John asked in a rushed tone, anxiously shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. 

"My father's name was Alexander Hamilton." Phillip spoke briskly, wanting to comply to the Lieutenant Colonel's wishes as adequately as he could. Phillip noticed that as soon as his father's name left the tip of his tongue, there was a certain expression that took purchase over John's face. 

Phillip was of course very skilled at deciphering expressions, but this one seemed to be a lost mystery. John had somewhat of a mix of confusion, concern, excitement, surprise, and... Well, Phillip couldn't quite identify the other emotion, but it was surely there. 

"So... you knew him?" Phillip inquired, wanting to make sure that John was still present in the moment. For a split second, Phillip swore that he could see John's eyes widen, but the Lieutenant Colonel blinked whatever feeling he was getting away before he could react any further. 

"Uh, y-yes. I, uh, I knew him." John stammered in a hurried and heavy tone. Phillip furrowed his brow in a questioning manner. He wished to know exactly what happened between this man and his father, yet, he assumed that he wouldn't be told of that information for quite a long while. 

Maybe they had been enemies, brutally fighting for Washington's praise during the war. Phillip knew how ambitious his father was, so he would not be surprised if that were the case. But, maybe they had been friends, only wanting the best for one another. Or maybe even... something more. Phillip silently scolded himself for having such thoughts. His father would never commit a crime such as that. Or, at least, Phillip did not think that he would. 

"I assume that you have gained the ability to walk once more. Come, let me lead you inside." John stood and offered his hand to Phillip for assistance while obviously wanting to change the topic. But the stuttering and shifty tone that had just been subject to John only a few minutes ago was quickly replaced with his commanding, strong, but caring voice. 

Phillip gladly took the Lieutenant Colonel's hand, and was pulled up much more quickly than he expected to be. John was exceedingly tall, stronger than most, and used to be in the military. There was no doubt that he was simply an intimidating individual for many reasons. Yet, Phillip felt strongly that he could trust John, and wanted to give him a fair amount of chances.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that this wasn't too bad. I will try to update whenever I have the time. I strongly encourage you guys to leave comments, because I love hearing what you have to say!


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